The Diplomat

by French, Sophia

  “Loric, hurry up with that box and then give her some privacy.”

  “Will she be okay?” said Loric, his eyes averted.

  “I believe so. Don’t worry. Just go keep an eye on things downstairs.” Elise gently took hold of Rema’s waist. “I’m going to lift you up now, sweetheart. It shouldn’t hurt too much.” Rema cooperated as Elise moved her upright. A torrent of dizziness struck her, but she breathed her way through it.

  “Elsie…” There was a mirror opposite the bed, and Rema winced as she caught her reflection. Thick beads of moisture glistened across her sharp features, and her bare torso was similarly sheened with sweat. Elise’s pendant still rested against her collarbone, and Rema touched it lightly with her finger. It no longer burned.

  “I’m going to clean this wound now.” Elise climbed onto the bed and crawled behind Rema. “I’ll make it hurt as little as I can.”

  “Thank you.” Was it possible that this weak voice was her own?

  “Hold your breath.” Something stung her back and wiped across her skin. Despite the pain, it left her feeling cleaner. Elise put the soiled cloth aside, took a little bottle from her medicine box and unscrewed the lid. “This is for the pain.” Her fingers traced the wound, spreading an ointment that left Rema’s skin numb. “Oh, Rema, you poor thing.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “It was a glancing blow, and the wound is shallow. You’ll feel very queasy, but no harm is done.”

  “I took a step forward as he struck.” Rema gripped the black stone at her neck. “I felt the pendant you gave me, and I moved. If I hadn’t…”

  She watched in the mirror as Elise tipped clear fluid onto a fresh cloth. “This is to prevent the wound from fouling.” Rema’s back was so numbed that she barely felt the pressure of the cloth. “I’m glad the pendant helped you, Rema, but…”

  Why had she fallen silent? “What’s wrong?”

  “This is my fault.” Elise’s voice shook. “This happened because of me.”

  Rema tried to turn, but Elise stopped her. “Elsie, how could it be your fault?”

  “I know what that man was.” Elise began to rub another cream on Rema’s back. “We’ll all know soon. He was a Lyornan spy.”

  “How do you…”

  “Because I’m a traitor. When we learned that an imperial diplomat was coming, I let Lyorn know too. I was afraid and angry, and I didn’t trust that my mother would protect me forever. So I acted stupidly, treasonously. Imagine my horror when instead of some loathsome diplomat, they sent you. Every day you’ve been here, I’ve been terrified that this might happen.”

  Rema shifted to face her. She was sitting cross-legged, her hair pooled on the bed behind her, and her face was puckered with misery. “Look at me,” Rema said, and Elise looked up, her eyelashes glistening with tears.

  “If anyone finds out, it’s the end of me. I’ll be sent to Ormun if I’m lucky. Calan would want me executed.” A tear slipped down Elise’s cheek. “But I don’t care about that. I’m crying because I’ve lost every chance of making you love me.”

  “You don’t know how I feel.” Rema touched Elise’s damp face with the back of her hand. “I know I’ve seemed cold at times, but that’s because I’m a diplomat. My manner and my feelings are rarely allowed to coincide.”

  Elise glanced down at Rema’s bared breasts, and a blush warmed on her cheeks as she quickly looked up again. “I tried so hard to hate you this morning. I thought of how you let Calan insult me in front of everyone, and I remembered the way you turned your back on me after our dinner. But when you told me your story and recited that poem, I understood why you’d done those things to me. I saw the secret in your eyes and heard the whisper between your verse, and I knew that you were sorry.”

  “I am sorry. More than even poetry can express.”

  “There are two things I now know for certain. I can’t escape this marriage, and I’m in love with you. I can’t fight either. I’m doomed, and you’ve doomed me.”

  “Love is a strong word. You don’t know me.”

  “Love is a feeling. It’s not about knowing. This is one enchantment I can’t break, and I’m glad. I want to live beneath your spell, even if it destroys me. You’re my disaster, my damnation…my diplomat.”

  The compassion in Rema’s chest blazed into something deeper. Gods help them both. She touched Elise’s face, traced the curve of her cheekbone and stroked the smooth skin beneath her ear. Elise began to breathe quickly, her lips open with anticipation, and Rema leaned in to grant their wish.

  Before their mouths could meet, a heavy knock shook the door. Elise leapt to her feet, her eyes blazing. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Calan.” The satisfaction in his voice was audible even through the door. “I’m coming in.”

  Rema grabbed a pillow and pressed it to her chest. The door opened, and Calan ducked beneath the frame. He glanced at Elise before giving Rema’s bare shoulders a lingering examination. “How’s our little ambassador?”

  “She’ll live.” Elise smoothed the front of her dress and flicked her hair from her face. “What are you doing here, Calan? You’re getting in my way.”

  “Don’t be so quick to chase me off. Remela is surely curious to know more about her assailant, don’t you think?” Calan looked around the room and laughed. “I was going to sit, but there’s nowhere to in this mess. You not only have the figure of a pig, sister, but you live like one.”

  “Get on with it. I have to tend to her.”

  Calan licked his lips. “So be it. Her attacker is one of the Narandane servants. I asked Domyr about it, and he insisted he knew nothing about the man. He’d employed him back in Narandor, had asked no questions about his background, and has no issue with us meting out judgment however we please. He also passed on his well-wishes to the victim.”

  “I’m sure you don’t believe any of that,” said Rema.

  “Of course not. So I spent some time with our would-be assassin. I asked the usual questions. Who had employed him? Why had he tried to kill an imperial diplomat? How did he even know that an imperial diplomat was here? He was very sullen at first.” Calan’s lips moved in a thin smile. “Then I found ways to persuade him.”

  “Bannon.” Rema clutched the pillow tighter. “You tortured him.”

  “You’ve met my pale-eyed friend, have you?” Calan chuckled. “To get to the point, our assassin was working for Lyorn. They’ve learned about the Emperor’s offer, and they reasoned that if his diplomat died under our protection, it would both disrupt the negotiations and reflect poorly on Danosha. The Emperor would certainly be reluctant to send any more diplomats.”

  “Did this man implicate Domyr? Or anyone else?”

  “Domyr is surely complicit, but the prisoner hasn’t admitted it yet. What I’m interested to know is how he learned that we had a diplomat coming. These Narandane arrived only the day after you, so it was clear they knew exactly when you were arriving. But nobody’s seen the Emperor’s letter except Yorin and our family.”

  His implication was obvious, and Rema swallowed hard. “What about the servants?”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Calan picked a plant from the wall and began to pull it apart. “Servants can’t read. No, I’m sure the truth is far more interesting, and I’m very eager to learn more. Little sister, you’re very quiet.”

  “Rema needs her rest,” Elise said, her voice calm. “Why don’t you go back to your sick interrogation? And damn you, leave my herbs alone.”

  Calan tossed the mangled plant to the floor. “She’s a lucky thing, that Rema. If Loric and the foreigner hadn’t been taking breakfast in the gardens, she’d be in ribbons.” He stepped forward. “I’m curious to see this wound of yours.”

  Squeezing the cushion close to her chest, Rema wriggled backward. Elise stepped between them. “Get the hell away from her!” she said, her voice wild with fury. “Take your leering eyes with you. She’s not a spectacle for you to gape at.”

  “Ooh
, such teeth!” Calan grinned. “Don’t worry, we all have her best interest at heart. That’s why we won’t rest until we bring this traitor to justice. Isn’t that right, Elise?”

  “Get out!”

  “How unfair. Here I am, working hard to defend us, and all you can do is berate me. Oh, don’t bother opening your nasty mouth again, I’m leaving.” Calan walked to the doorway, where he stood with one hand pressed against the frame. “Sister, perhaps you can clarify something for me. You aren’t still being stubborn about this marriage proposal, are you?”

  Elise remained silent, her fists clenched.

  “I’ve been trying to think of a way to convince you to be gracefully wed and leave this court in peace.” Calan winked. “Perhaps something will come to me.” He shut the door with enough force to shake the glass jars on Elise’s workbench.

  The scowl Elise had worn for Calan collapsed into a look of frightened petulance. “He knows. He’s going to blackmail me with it.”

  “Even if he suspects it, he can’t yet prove it,” said Rema. Her stomach still churned from disgust at Calan’s unwelcome intrusion. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt you.”

  “You’re going to help me, even after what I’ve done? Are you saying I’m forgiven?”

  “You were desperate. Of course you’re forgiven.” Rema hugged the pillow closer to her body. “Can you find me something to wear? I need to get to the prisoner quickly. With enough time, Calan can make him say anything.”

  “The truth is already bad enough.” Elise sank onto the bed. “And I was serious when I said you need to rest. The wound isn’t serious, but your body is badly shaken.”

  “Even if I wobble a little, I’ll be fine.”

  Elise touched her fingertips to Rema’s shoulder. “Can’t we just go back to where we were before?”

  Their lips had been so close…what would have happened without Calan’s interruption? “We’d best not.”

  Elise sighed and began to rummage through the clothes tossed about the room. She smoothed the rumples out of a purple blouse and handed it to Rema, who pulled the garment over her head. “It smells like your perfume,” said Rema, wriggling her arms through the sleeves.

  “It’s so baggy on you.” Elise placed her hands upon her stomach. “Perhaps I really am as fat as a pig.”

  “Don’t speak that way. You’re perfect.” Rema rose to her feet, grimacing as her back and knees complained together. “Does Loric know what you’ve done?”

  Elise shook her head.

  “And the Lyornans. Did you send them the information anonymously?”

  “I didn’t sign the letter, but they’re not stupid. I’m sure they figured it out.” Elise coiled a strand of hair around her fingers. “You do realize that if you turn me in, my parents will wash their hands of me and sign your treaty. Then you could go home.”

  “You’d have to endure terrible shame. I couldn’t do that to you. When you leave this kingdom, it will be with your head high.”

  “Rema.” Elise put her arms around Rema’s waist and held her close. Elise’s body proved alluringly soft, as one might expect of a woman so voluptuous, and Rema fought the desire to push them both to the bed. “There’s a message in your eyes that gives me hope. But I want to hear you say the words I’m longing for. I want to know we’re thinking about the same thing.”

  “One thought at a time.” Rema slid out from the embrace. “Did you want to come with me to confront Calan? You’re every bit as fierce as me.”

  Elise laughed, and the low, sensual sound quickened Rema’s pulse. “I’m flattered, but I’d be more valuable here. There’s something I can arrange that might help us.”

  “If nobody is harmed, then do it.”

  “I don’t want to see anybody hurt, most of all you. Please be careful.”

  “I always am.” They lingered for a moment longer, gazing upon one another. As Rema finally retreated to the door, Elise opened a book on her desk and began traversing the room, picking through her flasks and vials. What manner of sorcery did she have planned? After the painful warning from the black pendant, it was clear Elise was capable of some uncanny enchantment.

  As Rema descended the stairs, her back itched, and she struggled not to touch it. It was rare she endured such violence. Yet despite what the Narandane had done to her, Rema felt nothing but pity in return. Diplomats were taught early what to expect from torturers, the numerous techniques they used to impose their cruelty upon both mind and flesh, and Bannon’s eyes had suggested a man who knew them all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The front court had been cleared, and the palace doors shut and sealed by a heavy wooden bolt. Yorin, Muhan and Loric stood engaged in a lively discussion. The moment Rema’s boots struck the flagstones, they broke off their conversation. “Rema!” Loric dashed forward and clutched her hands. “Should you be up?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little shaken. Muhan, Loric, it seems I owe you my life.”

  Muhan smiled. “Perhaps, but I’m too modest to lay claim to it. Let us hear the story from our prince here.”

  “It really was more him than me.” Loric scuffed the flagstones with his heel as a new shyness stole over him. “We were breakfasting in the corner of the gardens. I noticed you following the Narandane moving into that nasty dark grove, and I mentioned it to Muhan, who said that we ought to check on you. We were just in time. But honestly, it was Muhan who saved you. He just grappled the man to the ground. It was amazing!”

  “I trained as a wrestler when I was a younger man,” said Muhan. “I painted my chest, stood shirtless in the marketplace and challenged passersby to throw me to the ground. So as not to go hungry, I became quite good at it.”

  “You’re a man of many skills,” said Rema. “But don’t downplay what you did, Loric. You’re a hero.”

  Loric lowered his scarlet face. “I’m just glad you’re alive. When we told Yorin what had happened, he was so worried for you that he pulled his remaining hairs out.”

  Yorin coughed and turned his head away. The sight of his embarrassment was so uncharacteristic that Rema was unable to resist a giggle, which mortified her in turn—the great Remela, giggling?

  “Look at your faces,” said Muhan with evident satisfaction. “Even I couldn’t produce a more striking red.”

  “Never mind that,” said Yorin. “The end result is that Calan has the prisoner in the dungeons, and he’s wringing secrets out of him. I don’t want to know how.”

  Rema grimaced. Just as she had anticipated. “Can you take me to the dungeons? Someone else needs to be there, if only to make sure that this man isn’t ill-treated.”

  “Are you serious?” said Loric. “He tried to kill you! He deserves everything he gets.”

  “Diplomats by their very nature resolve injustice without violence. In any event, we should be merciful even toward assassins. Who knows what kind of pressure that man was under? I want to talk to Domyr too, if possible.”

  “He’s under guard,” said Yorin. “We’re being very polite about it, just in case he really is who he says. We don’t need to make an enemy of Narandor.”

  “Wise of you. Now, the dungeons, if someone will be so kind?”

  “Yes, yes.” Yorin waved his hand in a frustrated gesture. “But if you falter even for a single step, I’m having you taken straight back to your room.”

  Rema followed Yorin through an archway and into an unfamiliar corridor, which was lit by a series of torches casting an uncertain glow across the irregular stone walls. The carpet running the hall’s length was worn right to the stone. It ended at a cracked archway, behind which a deep stairwell dropped into shadow.

  Yorin took a torch from a bracket, and he and Rema descended into the darkness. Her back ached, but she concealed her discomfort. A far greater pain was presently being visited upon another, and as her father had taught her, she held only mercy in her heart.

  They emerged into a grey-bricked corridor lined with cell doors. Yorin lifted
his torch ahead of them, sending a wavering finger of light into the hall. Several dim lanterns lit the hallway further along. “The dungeons,” he said. “Usually empty, as prisoners of war are kept in the forts.”

  Rema didn’t need to be told where Calan and Bannon were; the prisoner’s wails were audible. “I’ll continue alone. You inform the King and Queen that I was attacked and barely escaped with my life. Use this incident to argue that the deal must be signed before Lyorn makes another attempt. Stress that this proves your enemies fear what our alliance will bring.”

  “I admire the way you turn every little thing to your advantage. Be careful as you go. There’s rats down here.”

  A howl echoed down the corridor. “There’s much worse than rats.”

  Rema followed the prisoner’s shrieks until she reached a wooden door at the end of a row of cells. The door was ajar, and torchlight shone red behind it. She descended a short flight of stairs and entered a torture chamber, as chilling and unpleasant as every other of its kind. Sinister devices jutted from the shadows, and chains hung from the ceiling in macabre loops.

  The Narandane hung from two boards arranged in the shape of an X. He had been stripped to the waist, livid wounds striped his chest, and meat hooks had been embedded in the flesh of his shoulders. A chain ran from the hooks, around a pulley and to a handle, where Bannon stood waiting.

  Calan was before the cross, his face expressionless. He inclined his head as Rema entered. “Ah, it’s you. Wanted the satisfaction of seeing your attacker suffer, I suppose.”

  “Nobody should find satisfaction in this.” Sickened, Rema found herself unable to move from the final step into the oppressive gloom of the chamber. “What are you doing to him?”

  “A simple device,” said Bannon. “I turn the lever, like so.” He spun the handle and the chain tightened. The Narandane’s skin pulled, taut and grotesque, and he screamed. Sweat and tears flowed down his cheeks.